


Don't Disappoint Death

by Detavot



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/F, F/M, Female pronouns for Grell, Grell actually has depth in this WoW who'd have guessed?, Grell caught onto O!Ciel's little lie, Grell interested in blue boiTM, Grell is way too selfish and pragmatic for that, Grell's inner musings, Grim Reapers, I love Will so much he only gets a sentence, My take on why Grell is so interested in our demented duo, Spoilers for the Manga, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 10:12:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14423193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detavot/pseuds/Detavot
Summary: She would paint everything red, in the colour she loved best and in the colour that had been gifts to them all. Ciel Phantomhive would paint everything blue, as blue as the waters that she had once drowned in. The two could make such a sweet harmony if they had the chance.She was deathly sure of it.





	Don't Disappoint Death

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this in the dead of night instead of sleeping and studying. Funtom Quality writing, here, fellas.
> 
> (I have used a lot of my headcannons for this, since we don't know much Grell even now. Forgive me, Yana-sensei and hardcore fans.)

    She remembered when she had died. That was certainly one way to phrase it, that was the most popular word here in these pristine rooms filled with technology and grace. The word _dying_ had such a promise, a way of sugar-coating the truth and painting the memories in such a beautiful shade of pink. The problem with that was the fact that she only loved the colour red; the colour of blood, passion, and horrible truths. So, she allowed herself to rephrase that thought in her head.

    She remembered when she had killed herself.

    It had been such a boring day, now that she could think back on it. It had been all the same, really, just another bad day made worse by all the horrible people she had acquainted herself with. They would push her around, cut her hair whenever she tried to grow it, remind her how her dream of becoming a woman was impossible. It had gotten to the point where she could not bear it anymore. She remembered jumping into the Thames, she remembered allowing it to drown her with the pain and sorrow that came with losing one’s life--even if it had been willingly. Then she remembered waking up, everything around her had been blurry but, thankfully, there hadn't been much to see. They explained to her what she was, a Grim Reaper, and who her employer was, the almighty God. She remembered their disgust at her ‘sickness’, how they yearned to get away from her. She didn't care, she didn't feel at all offended. She didn't feel much, anymore; not pain, not emotion. She slept and ate only when she needed to; she trained and reaped only because it was her job.

    She grew to love the colour red, the colour of life itself. When she had decided to kill herself, why hadn't she chosen to do it by cutting her wrists or neck? It would have been a beautiful death, at the very least, filled with passionate red petals. To make up for pathetic, dull death she grew her red hair, she painted her nails red and made sure the rim of her glasses were also red. Such a fitting colour. She wanted to be seen as red as the passion, blood and hate inside of her. She wanted God to see His pure white contaminated with her beautiful red, she wanted God to see her bathed in the colour He had bestowed them all. It was a petty and easy to ignore protest, but it was one she was proud of. She hated this life she had been given, she loathed the one who had given it to her. Almost all of the Grim Reapers shared her opinion but were too cowardly to act. They had been broken long ago, they were kept in cages.

    She wondered how long it would take for her to be dragged into that cage. Immortal life would beat obedience into her soon enough, she knew, but she still fought against those invisible, wretched burdens to live another day with whatever was left of her free will still intact.

    She would look at the Cinematic Records of the people of London. This was a city where she thrived; the colour of red roses bloomed in every dark, grimy corner and refused to simply be without wandering eyes. The adults here were rotten to the core, the children were innocent toys which were tainted so, so soon. She had reaped so many interesting people, she had seen such beautiful deaths, she had witnessed so many tragedies. She felt like she belonged here. This place was her home, right beside the river Thames which had drowned her willing body.

    She looked at her agenda, grinning. Oh, such a lovely night it was! The pages were filled, she would have another very long shift even if she hurried. She didn't mind. Reaping was the only thing she enjoyed in this life, after all, so she would make sure to be very thorough and slow. She watched from the rooftop, holding onto a pole as she watched the woman in red murder her first victim for the night. She was a sight to behold, that woman in red, and the screams were such soothing melodies to listen to. Silently observing the scene, Grell--for the second time in her life--found herself falling in love. The woman in red was haphazardly stabbing the hideous prostitute, the red petals soaking her hair and her clothes; not that it mattered, for both were already such a beautiful crimson. For the first time since Grell had been given this job, she found herself not paying any attention to the horridly dull Cinematic Records of the ugly wench. The woman in red was in her sight, always, for such a beautiful woman should never be without an admirer. Humans were all the same petty creatures, Grell knew, but every now and then a gem popped up. A red ruby shining so brilliantly in the dark, that was the only way to describe this human drenched in life.

    Grell researched the woman in red as soon as she had the chance, and she had to say she had done a remarkable job of erasing any clues that could lead them back to her. This was only the first of the countless of rules she would break in these few months. The human’s name was Angelina Dalles, born to an aristocratic family; nicknamed, suitably, Madame Red. Grell grinned as she read the woman’s life story, feeling the warmth of love spread in her bosom. Such a tragedy told with the colour of crimson roses. How romantic, how grand! This stage filled with passionate red roses and horrifying blood, where only cruel truths and lies had a part to play! Grell grinned as she entered the stage. She was willing to play as a background character by her side, as long as Madame Red did not mess up her lines. That was certainly a first, but she did not mind in the least--immortal life grew dreadfully dull when you knew what to expect.

    For her love, she had betrayed the code of Grim Reapers. For her love, she had killed and provided alibis for her darling in red. For her love, she had dyed her hair such an ugly colour of brown and washed off her makeup. She took on the role of the horrible butler and mingled with humans. She stayed up late at night with her love, sharing stories and longings. She stayed up late with her love, killing and spreading these petals of life. In the nights and days, she stared up at the Heavens and laughed in God’s face--a Grim Reaper working with murderers, angels no doubt sang foully of the blasphemy!

    It had all felt so _good_.

    Then that brat came along. Grell knew something was wrong immediately, that brat was not an ordinary human; but she did not investigate any further than what Madame Red told, for the brat did not interest her in the least. His name was Ciel Phantomhive (she felt an odd feeling upon hearing that name), he was thirteen years old and had returned only three years ago with a butler after being suspiciously missing for a month. The brat had taken on his predecessor’s occupation of ‘the Queen’s Guard Dog’ as well as the title ‘Earl’ only a few months after his return. Madame Red was fond of the little brat but not so much as to stop her killing spree. Such flimsy things human relationships were.

    The butler, Sebastian, was undoubtedly a demon. Grell felt her interest growing--only for the handsome beast tightly leashed by the brat, of course. She realised she had walked into a chessboard as soon as the bone had been thrown, as soon as the Guard Dog had come to London. (Madame Red was not as bright when it came to such things, so Grell had to explain it to her). She looked at the brat and his demon with thinly veiled amusement. The demon already knew who ‘Jack the Ripper’ (it was such an odd nickname for the two female murderers but this was a world dominated by men, after all) was. The brat was being toyed with, and Grell sometimes had to stop breathing altogether in order keep her laughter hidden. Stuck between Grell’s crimson heart, Madame Red’s crimson soul and Sebastian’s crimson gaze, the boy drenched in blue (and eventually pink; Grell still laughed at the fond memory) was nothing more than a soft pincushion doll waiting innocently for needles when instead he would be getting a dagger. The boy was a dark lamb being hauled off to the slaughterhouse, and the three adults in the room awaited his screams with grins on their faces.

    But the game and play came to an abrupt end, as did her love for the beautifully red Madame. She took the corpse’s crimson coat to remind herself of this night. Humans would only disappoint death, after all; what exactly had she expected? The demon was not human, however, and she felt foolish affection towards the embodiment of sin coming to kill her with his blasphemer contractor’s orders. The boy did not scream, did not shout, did not cry. He only waited calmly, sitting beside the corpse that had once been his aunt, and tried to get rid of his boredom by playing a game with his hands. He had left his dog unleashed on death and he couldn’t care less. A most curious specimen, this boy.

    Grell had not feared death for a long time, for she had always been aware of the fact she its master. She gave judgement to souls, she watched the humans’ last pathetic moments in this world. She was quickly learning that demons were also masters of death, alongside of sin, when ‘Sebastian’ grinned sadistically as he raised her beloved Death Scythe high up in the air.

    Unfortunately for the demon, Will, her first love, saved her yet again. She grinned, laughed as Will’s lecture went on. In her prohibition, she read up on the Phantomhive estate and laughed until her sides were sore. The brat ‘Ciel Phantomhive’ was dead. _Dead_! The demon known as _Sebastian_ had eaten the poor child’s soul, according to Will’s report--and Will did not make mistakes. And, according to the orders given by God, the living Phantomhive brat should have died three years ago, just an hour after his brother. Tears formed in her eyes and fell to the ground as she held her sides and laughed, laughed, and _laughed_.

    The child who had spat at God’s face, the child who had cheated death, the child destined to be forever chained to tragedy. He was blue, the very opposite of the colour Grell loved so. Grell grinned, inspecting her nails and freshening her makeup. The Grim Reaper and contractor who refused to obey God’s will, that would indeed be the most exciting play she would ever have a part in.

    Sometimes, contrasting colours could make a beautiful sight.

    No matter where the boy went, death would follow just like his demonic butler. Red as beautiful as the crimson roses and blue as beautiful as the Thames which she had drowned in would find one another, forever tangled in this cruel but dashing dance upon the chessboard the brat loved so dearly. Grell wondered which game the child would choose first, the one against God or the one against his demon? Or maybe, just maybe, he would choose to play against Death first. The death which haunted him, the death which was meant for him, the death which had started all of this three years ago.

    _‘Ciel’ Phantomhive… You have a date with the death you have cheated. Do not disappoint, for that would be your most fatal mistake._

 

.

.

.

 

    She purred as the the demon and his master hurried away from the laboratory, smirking at how the curtains had risen on this beautiful, tragic play. Sheakspear would benmoved to tears, she was so sure. A game with Death, a _danse macabre_. “Well, no matter. We’ll be seeing each other real soon, you can count on it. Isn't that right?” She checked her agenda and drew a red heart beside a certain ‘Agni’ scheduled to die, already planning on the makeup she would wear for the grand occasion.

    ‘Ciel’ had escaped from God’s golden cage, managed to tame a demon, and become Death’s most trusted misfit. Grell’s eyes narrowed, the neon green of her eyes complimenting her red-rimmed glasses. He was a priceless type of human, one Grell doubted even God had ever encountered before. In the right hands, he could bring catastrophe and disaster to the world. It was a good thing the boy had made it his personal policy (Grell could almost call it 'aesthetic', a word only demons knew the true value of) to play only by his own rules but that could change very, very soon.

    Now, Grell had some business to attend to. The party didn't start until Agni’s death, after all, and she didn't want any overtime interfering with this fantastic play.


End file.
